


One more miracle, Sherlock

by SauleMarron19427



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: (sort of), (up to season 2), Alternate Universe - Mary Morstan Doesn't Exist, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Five Stages of Grief, Grief/Mourning, I like her but she's not here, It's Sherlock, M/M, Post-Season/Series 02, Pre-Season/Series 03, Sad John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:48:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24093091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SauleMarron19427/pseuds/SauleMarron19427
Summary: After hearing John's plea at his funeral, Sherlock's plans changed: he gives himself a year to destroy Moriarty's web, no more. And during those three hundred and sixty-five days, John is often seen at the cemetery, talking to Sherlock's grave. Until the day they are reunited...
Relationships: (mentionned) - Relationship, Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Kudos: 75





	One more miracle, Sherlock

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NaitiaClo960](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NaitiaClo960/gifts).



> Hi! So this is an old thing I had on my computer (I wrote it, like, four years ago) and I never did anything with it! I had a look at my old files today, and I wanted to share this one with you!
> 
> Enjoy o/

_“Um… Mmh, right, you… You told me once that you weren’t a hero. Um… They were times I didn’t even think you were human but let me tell you this, you were the best man and the most human, human being that I’ve ever known and no one will ever convince me that you told me a lie, okay? I was… I was so alone. And I owe you so much. Oh, please, there’s just one more thing, right? One more thing._ One more miracle, Sherlock _, for me… Don’t be dead. Would you, just for me, just stop it? Stop this.”_

Sherlock stared at John, who was looking at the black gravestone before he turned on his heels, back straight and eyes dry. He hadn’t planned his friend’s reaction. He hadn’t though John would be as affected as that by his fake death. Obviously, he knew John would be upset – it was a normal reaction, after all – but he didn’t thought he’d see him like this.

At first, he’d calculated that he’d need between twenty-four and twenty-six months to destroy Moriarty’s web. But now, he had to change his plans. He had to do it in twelve months, no more.

For John.

He glanced a last time at his flatmate, who was leaving the graveyard with Mrs. Hudson, and turned on his heel to the car Mycroft had prepared for him him. It was the time to go.

***

_Seventh day_

John sighed when he arrived in front of the grave. He had dark rings under his eyes, evidence of his lack of sleep, and he looked drawn. He put a hand on his face, and opened his mouth:

“I went back to Ella’s.” he started. “She told me to write on the blog again, but… It was for the cases, and now… And then, I told myself that could just come here and talk to you, so here I am.”

He put a hand on his face again, a sad smile on his lips.

“I know what you’d told me: ‘It’s illogical to talk to a tombstone, John; the deceased cannot hear you anymore.’. But I don’t want to talk to the others. They look at me with their sad eyes, and all I want to do is tell them to go to hell. But I didn’t come here to complain. Greg – _Lestrade_ – called me two days ago. Apparently, Anderson had a breakdown when he learned for your…”

He didn’t end his sentence, a grimace deforming his face.

“Knowing that it’s because of them that you…” he said, stopping before the end again. “Greg said he quit his job and that he doesn’t want to go out of his house. He told NSY that he didn’t believe it, that you were still alive. I’d love to be able to believe it too. But I saw your fall, Sherlock, and…”

His voice broke, and he put a hand before his eyes, taking several deep breaths. After a long minute, he lowered his hand. His eyes were dry.

“I think if it was anyone else, I might be more compassionate. But Anderson and Donovan are the reasons of all of this: they did exactly what Moriarty wanted them to do. He wanted us to doubt you, and those two are so stupid that they did it. If they weren’t so jealous, you’d never…”

The blond closed his eyes, taking deep breaths, and opened them again.

“I have to go, my break is finished.” he said finally.

He stared at the name on the tombstone a few seconds, and then he left.

oOoOo

_Fourteenth day_

“I found a flat.” John announced. “Mike let me live in his home for the las two weeks – not that I really slept, anyway – and I’ve finally found something. It’s a little small, but not bad. I sent some removal men to pick my stuff; the whole thing should be ready when I leave work. I don’t really know what it’ll be, but all is better than Baker Street. I love this flat, but without you… I’m not even brave enough to call Mrs. Hudson. I’m sure she’s worried, but…”

The former Captain sighed, looking away.

John didn’t say anything else, he just stared at the black grave ‘til he had to go back to work.

oOoOo

_Twenty-third day_

The blond left his hand on the black grave a few seconds before he took several steps back, closing his eyes to hold back his tears.

“The silence drives me insane.” he said, almost whispering. “I miss the violin at night, hearing you walk in the flat, the noises of your experiments, and even you shooting at the wall! I lived alone for years before meeting you, and now I can’t anymore! It’s _your fault_ , Sherlock!”

He was beginning to scream, while tears appeared in his eyes.

“Why the hell did you jumped?!” he almost yelled. “Was it because of your reputation? I though you didn’t give a shit about what people thought about you? You had no right to do that, no right to make me _watch_! You had no right to leave me, you son of a bitch!”

He fell on his knees, taking his head in his hands, tears rolling down his cheek.

“I hate you.” he whispered after several minutes. “ _I hate you_ , Sherlock Holmes. You had no right to do that to me.”

oOoOo

_Thirty-first day_

When he arrived this day, John didn’t open his mouth, just stared at the gold letters. The name « SHERLOCK HOLMES » sparkled on the black tombstone. His jaw and his fist clenched. His body tensed.

He stayed like this, with no movements, during at least two hours, glaring at the inscription.

oOoOo

_One hundred and second day_

“I’m sorry.” John said after a few minutes in front of the grave. “I didn’t come in two months, and the last time… You know what they said: there are five stages of grief, included anger. I think it was that. And maybe it’s still there. I’m still mad at you; don’t think you’ll be excused so easily, but…”

The doctor took a deep breath, staring down to the ground.

“But when I don’t want to destroy all I can find, I have the feeling of – I don’t even know how to describe it. I feel empty? Lonely? Probably both. I miss you, Sherlock. You gave me a reason to live when I left the army, and now you’re gone and don’t know what to do with myself. You told me once, that you’d be lost without your blogger. But what’s the point of John Watson without Sherlock Holmes?”

oOoOo

_One hundred fortieth day_

“Good news, I don’t want to destroy everything anymore!” he said with a fake smile. “I’m not saying I’m not angry anymore, but at least, I can contain myself when I heard about the ‘Fake Genius’. I doubt I’ll be that calm if I see Donovan and Anderson, but those two are exceptions.”

He shook his head, deciding for a change of subject.

“There are a lots of homeless not far away from my flat, it’s almost like your network want to watch over me. You think it’s Mycroft? He’s a lot more black-berlin-and-abduction-way, but he’s probably aware that he wouldn’t be welcome.”

He laughed a bit, following the letters on the grave with his eyes.

“You know, if you weren’t… I could almost believe you ask them to keep an eye on me.”

oOoOo

_One hundred ninety-fourth day_

John stopped in front of the black grave, staring at it without really seeing it.

“I visited Mike yesterday, and Molly jostled me when she left the room – I didn’t see her in a long time, by the way. Her apologies… It was like she talked about _something else_. Mike didn’t notice so… I probably invented the whole thing: after all, Molly has never done anything to me.”

His voice was calm, but really, Molly’s reaction was weird. He almost let himself though that she could talk about what happened on Bart’s roof, before he killed the idea. Hoping for the impossible wasn’t going to change anything.

oOoOo

_Two hundred forty-third day_

“I saw Mycroft yesterday evening.” he announced directly. “He was with Greg. And when I say ‘with’, I mean in a relationship. _Together_. Very surprising…”

He shook his head, a small smile on his lips.

“Greg invited me to the pub tonight, he’ll probably explain everything. I’m a bit impatient to know how it happened to be honest. And even if I’m still angry with Mycroft for what he did, Greg seemed happy, so I’m glad for him.”

oOoOo

_Two hundred forty-fourth day_

“Your brother and our dear DI are together since four months and a half.” he announced with a smile. “Greg started to take a few beers after work, since… Anyway. He told me Mycroft joined him one day. They didn’t talk, at first. And after a month, Mycroft invited him for lunch, and then for diner. They were seeing each other since for month before Greg made the first move – he mentioned indecent activity against a wall, but I don’t think you want to know about that, I didn’t want to either. Your brother seems to be a romantic at heart. I bet if you were there, you’d said you saw it coming since the beginning. A stain on Mycroft’s suit revealed his crush on Greg, right? Or something like that – you’re the genius, after all.

He shook his head, portraying the horrified face of his former flatmate if he were to learn about the relationship between his brother and ‘Gavin’.

“The Holmeses are not _only_ married to their work, apparently…”

oOoOo

_Two hundred sixty-sixth day_

Again, John just stared at the tombstone without saying a word, lost in his thoughts.

“I think I…” he started after two hours, before closing his mouth. “Never mind, that’s not important.”

***

Sherlock entered the cemetery without really bothering to watch who could see him. He took the direction of his tombstone, and hid himself behind a tree not far.

He had been gone since exactly three hundred and sixty-five days, and he had kept his word: in one year, he had destroyed all Moriarty’s web.

During his mission, Mycroft couldn’t gave him news about England – being the British Government was keeping him busy enough – but he had sent him a phone one week after he left. The phone was connected to a camera hidden in his grave. It allowed him to see anyone who came ‘to visit’ him. Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, and surprisingly, Anderson.

But the one who was there the more often was John. He was always there during his lunch break.

Seeing his friend so sad, hearing his anger, his pain… It was a motivation for the consulting detective, to do his work as faster as possible, which explained why he was already back. Mycroft had estimated two years, two months and three days before his return.

Sherlock had calculated to 96% the likelihood of John’s visit to the graveyard, for the one year anniversary of his ‘death’. It was why he was there, to tell to his friend that he was alive and well.

Ten minutes after twelve, John arrived. Sherlock was hidden by a tree, but he was face to face to his grave, behind John’s back. The doctor’s shoulders were tense. He was also nervous – his left hand was clearly trembling.

“It was one year ago…” the former soldier started. “One year that you’re dead, Sherlock. And I realized something… Honestly, it’s because of Mycroft.”

Behind the tree, Sherlock raised an eyebrow at the mention of his brother.

“Seeing him with Greg… There are a few things I could have told you. Things I could have understood more quickly, and told you when we had time. It’s too late now, but…”

He took a deep breath, and Sherlock could almost see him close his eyes.

“I love you.” he said slowly, almost reverently. “It took me a long time to figure it out, didn’t it? It’s not like something could have change between us if I’ve told you this sooner, because I know you didn’t feel the same way and you could have deleted it easily. But I needed to tell you, so… I do it now, even if it’s too late.”

Sherlock’s brain almost turned off with those three words. Because John was wrong, he _felt_ the same. He took him a long time to understand that the affection he had for his flatmate and friend was not exactly platonic, but he never wanted to do anything about it. John told everyone he wasn’t gay, and even if Sherlock knew otherwise, he wouldn’t dare risk their friendship for a hypothetical romantic and sexual relationship. Having John by his side would always be enough, even with all his girlfriends. But this confession could change _everything_.

Shaking his head, the detective took a few steps. John tensed, probably sensing his approach, but Sherlock opened his mouth before he could even move a finger.

“It’s not too late.”

The doctor tensed even more if it was possible, and turned around to face Sherlock. His eyes widened and his mouth fall open.

“I am sorry.” Sherlock said, talking quickly. “Moriarty threatened to kill you if I didn’t jump, and when he killed himself, I had no other choice. Everything was planned with Mycroft, and I wasn’t hurt too badly. Then, I had to leave. Moriarty’s web was huge, and it was the only way you’d be safe – ”

In the plane on his way back to England, Sherlock had estimated it was 85% likely John would punch him when they’ll be reunited. At first, he was naïve: he had believed his flatmate will be welcoming, but the tapes of his visits to the cemetery had changed the genius’ mind.

Seeing John’s face – flashing to surprise, then happiness and finally anger –, he understood that the likelihood was now 100%. And a few seconds after, he was on the ground, a hand on his left cheekbones. He stood up, and he was punched a second time.

When John lowered his fist, Sherlock stood up again. The doctor was glaring at him with cold eyes, almost with hatred. It was very different from the affection in his voice during his declaration – but John had good reasons to be angry, so he didn’t say anything.

“Now, you will explain _everything_.” the doctor said coldly. “And don’t lie, I know you too well.”

His friend’s voice left neither discussion nor protestations, and Sherlock knew that if he lied, John would probably turn his back on him and never look back, friend or not.

“When Mycroft’s men arrested Moriarty, he told me.” he revealed. “It was when we were at Baskerville. But he didn’t want to talk, unless Mycroft told him facts about me. So I agree to Mycroft speaking to him. He changed a few things, but Moriarty though he knew me better than everyone else. They let him go – it was planned, same for the trial’s fiasco. Moriarty had to believe he was in control of the situation. Our meeting on the roof was planned, too. There were thirteen possible outcomes, and we had a plan for all of them. Mycroft thought Moriarty didn’t only want to destroy my reputation; he wanted to kill me, too. He had three snipers, for three targets – Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, and you. If I didn’t jump, they’d kill you. I thought I would be able to change his mind, but I didn’t know he’d kill himself. The snipers were nowhere to be found, even the MI6 failed to track them down. I had no choice, I had to jump. Thankfully, we also had a plan for that.”

Sherlock took a break, taking a deep breath before he kept going:

“Several members of my network were there, and Mycroft closed the road, your cab was the only one allowed to cross the street. My fall was absorbed, and my men had to slow you down while I set up everything with Molly’s help. I cut my pulse with a ball under my jugular, and I went to Mycroft’s, and a doctor took care of me. I was there for two days, and then I left: I had to destroy Moriarty’s web. Mycroft estimated two years to find all of them, but…”

He didn’t end his sentence, looking away a few seconds.

“I wanted to see you all before leaving, so I went to my funeral. I heard what you said, in the end. And I understood that two years, it’d be too long. I promised myself to do it in a year. I came back from Serbia yesterday morning, and I found the snipers. Convincing them that they were the three last Moriarty’s minions wasn’t difficult. They surrendered easily; Mycroft took them to a government prison that doesn’t officially exist.”

The detective put his hands in his back when he had finished. After a few seconds, and because John still didn’t talked, he added:

“I’m done. You know everything, now.”

His flatmate blinked several times, and then stand up straight.

“Mycroft and Molly knew.” he said.

“Yes. It’s probably why she apologized when you saw her the last time at Bart’s.”

“That sounds logical.” John nodded. “After all – wait a minute, how do you know _that_?”

Sherlock looked away a few seconds before staring at the blond again.

“Mycroft put a camera on my grave, and I could see when someone came here.”

“I don’t know why I’m surprised, it’s Mycroft. So, you did ask your network to watch over me?”

“Yes.” the detective confirmed. “It was the only way to keep an eye on you when you weren’t here. I realized you probably think of it like an invasion of your private life – and I know how you hate it – but I wanted to have news regularly.”

His friend stared at him a long time, like he analyzed him, and glare at the tombstone before speaking again:

“You heard all I’ve said, all the time I came here.”

It wasn’t a question, but Sherlock nodded nonetheless.

“Including what I said today. When I said I loved you. And you said it wasn’t too late.”

Sherlock nodded again, without looking away.

A heartbeat later, there was a hand on his neck, and John’s lips on his. He froze a short moment, not used to this kind of contact. John’s body came closer, and his hands settled on the other man’s hips.

The kiss last only a few seconds, and John took a step back to hug him.

“We aren’t done talking about it, Sherlock.” he said slowly. “I’m still mad at you, and others explications will be necessary, about your fake suicide and our relationship. But for now, I just want to be with you.”

Sherlock nodded without saying anything, hugging John back after a slight hesitation. He had yet to announce his return – to Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade firstly; and to the world at large after – but with John by his side, he was confident.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, I hope you liked it! :)


End file.
